


Over the Hill

by subjunctive



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Dialogue Heavy, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Legally Questionable Romantic Gestures, Over the Hill Parties, POV Jon, POV Pod, slight crack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8663098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: Sansa throws Jon an over-the-hill party for his thirtieth birthday, Pod asks Jon for dating advice, and not-very-grand romantic gestures are performed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [announcer voice] and now for something completely different

Jon Snow was getting a beer in the kitchen when Pod found him, ducking under the OVER THE HILL banner that had begun to sag. Sansa was so good at this sort of thing, Pod thought dreamily, and it was so nice of her to throw Jon a party. There were so many people here, but for a moment he and Jon had the kitchen to themselves.

“You seem like the best person to ask,” Pod started, and then kept going, as he usually did. “I mean, Robb might be better, but then Robb might be worse, you know what I mean?”

Jon blinked slowly, and Pod had a feeling that he had not managed to get his point across. So he tried again.

“Robb’s Sansa’s brother, but he’s pretty protective, isn’t he, not that that’s a bad thing, just inconvenient at the moment. You’re sort of like Sansa’s brother, too, but without all the hotheadedness. Very chill.”

Jon grimaced, though Pod couldn’t see why. Maybe he didn’t like the beer selections. “And?”

“Well, you can help me. If you want to, that is. You don’t have to, obviously.”

“Beer?” Jon offered him one, and Pod took it. Jon leaned back against the counter and took a sip before he spoke. “Help you with what?”

“Sansa,” Pod said, because surely he had made that much clear.

Jon blinked again. “Sansa?”

“Yes,” Pod said, a bit desperately. “ _Sansa._ ”

“What about her?”

Pod couldn’t quite tell if he was being played with, but he forged ahead. “I want to ask her out. On a date, I mean. She could say no, obviously--”

“Obviously,” Jon put in dryly.

“But I really like her, and I don't know what kind of things she likes. I thought you might know. And then you could tell me.”

Jon scratched his chin. “I’m not really the best person to ask, honestly,” he hedged.

“You’re the only person to ask! Arya was no help at all,” Pod said a bit miserably. “All she did was question my taste in women and offer me a discount pass to the gun range she works at.”

Jon barked out a laugh. “I’ll bet.”

“I don’t think Sansa likes guns, but that’s all I’ve got. So will you help me or not?” Pod picked at the label of his untouched beer.

“What do you want help with exactly?”

“What does she like? Flowers? Chocolate? Poetry? What would be a good place to take her on a date? Do you have any tips? In general, even, not just about Sansa.”

Jon was looking distinctly uncomfortable now. “I’ve only been in one relationship before now, you know--”

“But you’re thirty!” Pod blurted out.

“That is the the theme of the party,” Jon agreed. “Anyway, she was completely different from Sansa.”

“What happened?”

“She died. Tragic accident.”

“Oh, shit, I’m so--”

But Jon was smiling. “I’m messing with you. She lives in Queenscrown now, I think. Anyway, my point is, your best source of information is probably Sansa herself.”

“You don’t have anything for me?” Pod asked.

Jon considered. “She likes grand romantic gestures,” he offered, and there was a funny little smile on his face that Pod didn’t know how to interpret. Jon clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m going to head back out there, man. Good luck, though.”

* * *

After everyone else had gone--several, including Theon, following Arya’s promise of exploding some fireworks down by the creek--Jon found himself on the back porch steps.

“There’s still plenty to clean up, birthday boy,” came Sansa’s voice from the doorway behind him.

He patted the space next to him. “You put it together, someone else can pick it up.”

“And who could that be? Does someone live here I don’t know about?” she asked archly, but came to sit next to him anyway, stretching out her legs in front of her and sighing.

Jon chuckled. “There’s someone moving in next weekend, I hear.”

“Really. Well, too bad they missed the amazing party I just threw.”

“Especially the tombstone cake with my name on it. Nice touch. You know, most people wait until the fortieth birthday to declare someone aged and decrepit.”

“It’s all your fast living,” Sansa protested. “Rock climbing is terribly dangerous, Jon. I had to knock a few years off the total.” 

“I like to live hard,” he said, deadpan.

She gave an exaggerated shiver. “It’s chilly out here.”

“Stay with me just a little longer. Oh,” he said, remembering. “Watch out for Pod Payne.”

She frowned. “That sounds ominous. Did something happen? He’s always seemed so nice.”

“No, not like that. He has a crush on you that can be seen from space. He came to me for advice on asking you out.”

“Oh,” she said, and pursed her lips. “What did you tell him?”

“I might have told him something about grand romantic gestures. So be on the lookout for one of those, I guess.”

“Jon!” Sounding scandalized, she put her forehead in her hand. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Move in with me?” he suggested, and she replied with a glare.

“Maybe I _will_ go out with Pod.”

“I’ll be interested to see what he does. Hire a skywriter, maybe?”

“If he does that, I might actually leave you for him,” she warned.

“You don't know, I could have a trick or two up my sleeve,” he protested. “I’m not totally hopeless.”

She looked wholly unimpressed, so much so that Jon felt vaguely insulted. “Such as?”

As if on cue, a loud crack reverberated over their heads, and they both flinched, though Jon was a little more prepared.

“Oh!” Sansa stared open-mouthed at the purple lights streaming across the sky. It was the kind where each spark left a long graceful arc of light behind before fizzing out into smoke and succumbing to gravity like the branches of a weeping willow. “Those are my favorites.”

“I know,” Jon said.

She stared at him. “Did you do this?”

He shrugged.

“Smugness is not a good look on you,” Sansa said severely, but she couldn’t contain her giddy smile as the fireworks display continued. No snap, crackle, or pop was more distracting than that smile. “How did you _know_?”

“You were drunk on the Fourth of July and became very judgmental about the show.”

“Liar. I’m never drunk.” She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and he draped an arm around her neck, pulling her closer. “Wait, who’s doing all this? Is it even legal?”

Jon wiggled his hand in response to the legality question, earning himself a huff. “I showed Arya where the township technically ends and gave her some leftovers I had lying around.” He made air quotes around “leftovers.”

“So they don’t even know? You conned them into performing a romantic gesture on your behalf?”

“I wouldn’t know a romantic gesture if it bit me on the ass, weren't you just suggesting? Besides, ‘conned’ is such a strong word.”

“I didn’t _say_ anything of the kind… I only implied it. Arya would be pissed if she ever found out. She thinks this kind of thing is sappy and stupid.”

“Who’s going to find out?”

“I _am_ moving in with you,” she reminded him.

“Did you get everything sorted with the movers, then?”

She nodded. “They’ll be at my place at ten on Saturday. So be ready.”

Jon flexed a knee and groaned, pretending arthritic pain. “I don’t know if I’ll be up to the task. Old man here, remember.”

“Don’t worry,” she said cheerfully. “I'm sure the movers are all strapping young men, eager to please.”

“Looking to replace me already? You’ll miss me when I'm gone.” Jon's hand slipped down her side and around her ribcage to cup her breast and tweak her nipple.

“Old man? More like old lech. If Robb knew the kind of liberties you take with me…”

“Robb will never figure it out. Remember his Christmas party? He blamed it on the mistletoe. And Halloween, too.”

“As if I’d ever kiss someone just because our costumes went together!”

“Speaking of costumes…” Jon kissed her neck as another firework exploded. “Isn’t there a birthday costume? Something about a suit…”

“Smooth,” she said dryly. “And you're the birthday boy, you can put on your birthday suit.”

“You’re not going to join me? It’s a momentous occasion.”

“The beginning of your slide into senility?”

He tugged on a lock of her hair. “Us moving in together.”

“I think that's next weekend.”

“We can have a pre-party. I feel like celebrating already. Every day this week, too.” It was true, too. Jon was sure she could see it in his expression. She always could.

Sansa laughed and turned her face into his chest. “You put on a good act, but I’ve figured out your secret,” she said, her words muffled by his shirt.

“And what's that?”

“You're a marshmallow, Jon Snow.”

“Well,” said Jon, kissing the top of her head, “there are worse things to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> visit me at [subjunctivemood on tumblr](http://subjunctivemood.tumblr.com)


End file.
